Cherish
by jamie2109
Summary: Co written with son of darkness. Harry and Draco are separated and neither of them are happy about it. This is the story of their journey back to each other.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1. Breaking.

The quiet was pervasive, and only the echoes of a happier time played havoc with the silence in his head. Weak sunlight shining through a window highlighted a myriad of dust motes floating in the disturbed air as he passed. Dust covers in a pile on the floor were waiting to cover furniture that had borne witness to the happiest moments in his life.

The knick-knacks of his life were gone, packed in boxes, ready to move on, leaving the rooms devoid of character, unadorned by anything that gave a hint as to what sort of home this had been for the occupants. It was now just four walls and a roof. Without the love that had abided under its roof, it was reduced to no more than bricks and mortar. Vacant, it was dead, he thought. Just like me.

One last walk around then, he decided. Maybe then he could say goodbye. This place had too many memories for him to live there comfortably any longer. Every article of furniture, every room, the very air in the house, all reminded him of Draco and what he had lost. Repeated begging from his friends had finally worn him down and he was leaving the only home he had ever known, that had been filled with the only love he had ever known. And he was numb.

The aching chasm Draco had left behind, was too big a hole to fill. He lived a half-life now. Scruffy, unable to wear the clothes that they had picked out together, he had reverted back to the oldest, most horrible jeans and t-shirt that he owned.

_I threw out all of your old clothes, Harry. _

All except these.

Glasses once again framed dead eyes. He couldn't look at himself in the mirror anymore through the contact lenses that Draco had made him wear. Besides, they made his eyes hurt, he justified to himself, knowing better. Constantly withholding the tears that threatened to fall was what hurt his eyes.

_Looking into your eyes is like looking into your soul Harry._

Harry didn't like the look of his soul these days. It was empty, he knew. The essence of what made his life make sense was gone.

As he walked around the house the ghosts of their love came to greet him. Here in the bathroom, the tiled shower still held a broken tile in the corner that Harry had never bothered to fix. He'd made the excuse that he didn't have enough time, but they had both known the real reason. Harry had cherished the memory that caused it, and had wanted to hold on to that, to always be reminded of that happy day. Before he knew it, visions of Draco standing under the hot water, skin flushed pink in the heat, came to him.

First day in their new house, and Draco had wanted to clean up after the unpacking. Harry had watched, not quite able to believe that he was happy, that he deserved to be so happy. Seeing him, Draco had held out his hand to Harry, who stepped in to share the heat of the water and his love. The first time they had made love in this house was right there in the shower. In their passion, one of them grasped at the shower curtain and it had come crashing down on them, cracking a tile in the process.

A flicker at the corners of his mouth was the only indication now that the memory of the two of them sprawled on the floor of the shower laughing until they were breathless, touched him.

_Well that's an interesting way to christen a house Harry._

Or that he remembered the heat of hands sliding over the new bruises after that, or the reverence with which they had touched each other, bringing them both to completion with a tenderness he had hardly thought possible.

The familiar soft laugh loud in the silence startled him and he spun around, his breath catching, hoping. All that greeted him was a faint echo in the quiet. He took a deep breath, trying to combat a sudden ache in his throat, pleading with it to go away. Wondering where it had come from in the first place. He didn't have any feelings left did he? They had walked out the door along with Draco. This home had lost it's heart.

Blankly, he wandered down the hall and found himself in what had been their bedroom. No trace, he thought. There's no trace of us here anymore. No photos, no books and nothing to suggest that anyone had ever slept in this room. The bed was still there, bare of coverings. Just a plain mattress on a heavy based brass bed. No, he was wrong, there were traces of them, he saw. When he looked, there they were. There were scratches on the bed head from the handcuffs that they liked to use. He saw the marks of the cuffs around each bed post, a sight which forced into his head a perfectly clear image of Draco bound naked and squirming on the bed, his eyes dark with lust.

_God Harry, you're driving me crazy, just fuck me already..._

He sat down on the bed, defeated, running his hand across the cloth of the mattress and allowing the memories to come. All the times they had made love on this bed paraded mockingly before him. In passion, in lust, in pure anger, or with a gentleness that bought tears to his eyes, they were all there. But it was always, always with an undying love.

_Mine. _

Yours.

The hours spent mapping out his body with his fingers and his tongue, finding every sensitive place, learning every smell, tasting every flavour. Every single sigh and groan, every small noise, every touch was firmly etched into his being. He had known Draco's body better than his own, and now… well now his hands were as empty as the rest of him.

Rubbing eyes that for some reason had begun to hurt as much as his throat, he stood and walked to the kitchen, the ghosts floating ethereally along behind. At the breakfast nook, memories assaulted him of mornings they had talked and laughed over coffee or tea, and croissants. Of late afternoon discussions about their lives, their friends, dinner parties that Draco loved to host, the latest shopping expeditions. Of gentle kisses, tender smiles and loving touches.

_My heart. _

Mine too.

This room had known his joy. He wondered how he could leave all these memories, all this love? He wondered why he was so cold and desolate when he had such warmth in his past?

Past. That was the problem wasn't it? They were now his past. A small whimper escaped him. He couldn't remember any more, he had to stop. If he didn't it would kill him all over again.

Forcing himself from the warmth of the kitchen, he headed resolutely to the pile of dust cloths to begin to cover the lounge furniture. These were new, he thought as he picked one up. They were safe. No memories there. Tucking it under his arm, he turned to the couch to give a final check under the cushions for any lose objects he might have forgotten. A cold metallic chink hit the ring on his finger and he scrabbled around extracting the item. It was the gold bracelet he had given Draco on the first anniversary of the purchase of their home.

It was the one he had handed back to Harry as he walked out the door, breaking Harry's heart. In the pain of that evening he had paid no attention to what had happened to it. Now he knew.

Harry fell heavily onto the couch, face becoming a mask of misery, his eyes haunted. He felt the pain running through every fibre of his body straight into his heart, filling it, bursting it and flooding out in a wrenching cry of anguish. Wrapping his arms across his chest, clasping the bracelet to him tightly, he curled into a tight ball on the couch, sobbing months worth of tears. Something he had not allowed himself when Draco had left.

Both of them had tried to say that it was for the best. Neither felt that they could keep living the way they had been. This had been the room, Harry suddenly remembered, not knowing how he had managed to forget, the room where they had made the decision to part.

He didn't want to relive that night, those weeks, of building tension, but the flowing of his tears had opened the way for the bad memories to haunt him. He remembered the hermits they had become because of the damned press hounding them. The broken nights, spent in anger at the barrage of howlers they received every time the Daily Prophet wrote about them.

No matter how many times they had told themselves that the outcry would go away, that the press would find someone else to hound, it never did. Day after day, the incessant attention eventually wore down the walls they had built around themselves. The ones they had constructed over years of secrecy, years of relying only on each other, years of just being.

They couldn't go anywhere without being followed by hordes of people, some spitting on them, the rest confining themselves to hurling abuse. Most of it was directed at Draco. Once their relationship became news, he had borne the brunt of the hate because of his name. It didn't matter how many times Harry had defended Draco, had told everyone what he had done to help the Order, people refused to believe that Draco was any better than his father.

_I am nothing like my father! _

I know.

Day by day, Harry watched Draco become more and more withdrawn, bending under the weight, and he hated them all for what they had done to both of them. Draco who loved the limelight and the attention became a shadow of himself. It was breaking Harry too, and he couldn't stand by and watch what was happening to Draco any longer.

So, one gray, cloudy day when Draco came to him and told him that things had to change, he accepted it. Draco was being hurt too much for Harry to fight against it, so he let him go, thinking that Draco would be happier, better off without him. Still thought that.

The last thing Draco did before he walked out the door was to hand the bracelet back to Harry.

_I have my memories safe in here Harry. _Hand over his heart.

_I don't need anything else to remind me._

Harry lay sobbing silently on the couch, pain and grief carved into every line of his body, still clasping the bracelet so tightly in his hand that the grooves imprinted upon his skin darkly. This had been their home. His entire world and everything that meant anything to him had been under this roof. Nothing meant anything anymore. He didn't care that he was moving into a room at Hermione's. He didn't care that she was worried about his state of mind. He didn't care that he no longer had a job, or that all but Ron and Hermione had abandoned him. He only cared that Draco wasn't with him.

_Always? _

Always.

Some time later, Harry was standing in the doorway to the lounge, eyes red-rimmed and sore, trying to swallow past his raw aching throat. There was a box of the last of the things from the house under his arm.

He paused, unable to make the final move to walk from the house for good.

_How do I do this? How do I leave? _

Draco's soft laughter mocked him. Some small part of him wanted to run through the house to see if he could find him anywhere, proof that he was still here after all. Every time he heard that gentle laugh his heart fluttered wildly with hope, before the cold hard rush of logic hit home. Logic in the form of the bracelet cold around his wrist, told him that it wasn't possible.

It was that cool metal that finally made him move. It reminded him that Draco had been able to leave, so he would be able to as well, no matter how hard it was.

_Scared Potter? _

It was so real, the voice in his head.

_Yes. Terrified. _

Take one step at a time Harry.

Right.

Unsteadily, he took the few remaining steps to the door.

As he walked out of the door, he stopped and turned back for one last look and the tears flowed again.

"Goodbye Draco." He whispered, and turned blindly, broken and desolate, towards his car.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Bah! I give up on the formatting. If anyone knows what I am doing wrong can they let me know? I'd be extremely grateful. I just want more spaces between my paragraphs and between the italicised memories of conversations Harry and Draco had. Is that too much to ask? But no matter what I do it will not save them...sigh Anyway, enjoy this chapter.

Jamie

xxxx

Chapter 2. Empty.

Another night, another body, another reason to hate what his life had become...

The parties grew tiresome and the company was anything but enjoyable. Every few seconds the sound of clinking champagne flutes rang through the night air like annoying little bells, signifying the latest pointless toast, made by sickeningly dull yuppies who liked to 'converse' about such things as how well paid their jobs were and how much money they just spent on their new yacht.

His money, confidence and looks had secured Draco a place among these creatures and he attended every party, drank champagne, laughed, agreed, 'conversed' and ate Foie Gras on crackers with them… But he wasn't one of them.

Oh, he'd join in their conversations about wine, sushi, hair and nails but each night after the party had finished, he'd go back to his flat feeling empty. He'd tried to fill that emptiness with good looking boys on occasion, picking them out at random from the crowd of departing phoneys, or spending the duration of the gathering sweet talking them into coming back to his place at the prospect of having 'a bit of fun.'

They always came, of course. Draco had never been given a single refusal and for a few moments while he and his bed partner were so heavily wrapped in carnal bliss, Draco could almost forget about Harry.

Almost…

_Harry, will you still love me when I'm old and grey? _

Of course I will.

He could never forget Harry. As much as he'd tried over the past ten months Harry was always on his mind, casting a shadow over his heart and ripping him slowly and painfully apart from the inside. Harry was the void left in his soul and the reason for his complete emptiness. He'd fill it for little more than a few minutes, fucking pretty boys, but as soon as the orgasm-induced haze had faded, the cold, dark, lonely emptiness steadily filled him to the brim once again, until he almost felt sick.

"It's alright," whispered the boy softly, shifting awkwardly at the top of the bed and watching as Draco sobbed uncontrollably into his hands.

"No it's not fucking alright!" Draco snapped back, "I called you someone else's name… while I was fucking you…" He shuddered as the pain swept over him and all he could do was cover his face with his hands to try and hide the tears.

The poor boy had no idea what to do. His pride hadn't been that badly dented as he'd never even given his name to the person now sitting at the end of the bed, crying his heart out. "I'm sure it happens to everyone sometimes…" he said, hoping this would act as some sort of comfort. But Draco wasn't having any of it.

He turned to the boy, cheeks streaked and glistening wet with tears, "It does not happen to everyone. It doesn't even happen to the majority of people. It happens to stupid people who think too much about other things and don't pay any attention! Do you fucking understand me?! This is not normal, this is…"

"I'm not angry…"

"WELL BULLY FOR YOU, THEN!"

There was a long awkward silence in which neither boy moved or spoke until finally Draco returned his gaze to the floor.

"Is there something I can do…?" the boy asked after several more moments of uncomfortable silence.

"No, thank you. But you can go if you want."

There was a sigh, followed by a short stillness, then the boy stood up, gathered his clothes, changed quickly and left without so much as a backwards glance.

And Draco sobbed. Sobbed because he knew he couldn't escape the torment. Couldn't escape his past. He sobbed because he was alone.

He sobbed because he had called out Harry's name.

.o0o.

This particular night was Aaron's contract celebration and of course, Draco had been invited. Aaron was a young millionaire go-getter who had just signed a deal with France's leading finance company and made quite a name for himself. The usual crowd of pseudo-sophisticates were expected for tonight's little gathering and Draco made himself a deal, to make an appearance, wish Aaron good luck then leave before people had had too much to drink. He had woken up with a headache and decided that he wouldn't make it any worse than it needed to be by drinking and spending the night with a bunch of harpies squawking into his ear.

He left the flat at eight and arrived at the party little more than ten minutes later. The walk to and from these parties was by far much more enjoyable than the events themselves and Draco often spent time just sitting by the Seine and losing himself in the darkness and soft rippling of the water. It wasn't so much a comfort as a distraction and he was thankful for it.

He took the lift to the top floor and then the extra flight of stairs to the roof and was instantly greeted with the sound of champagne corks popping, glasses clinking and the mindless banter of dozens of young, upwardly progressive, pathetic ingrates.

He sighed and flicked an invisible piece of lint from his shirt sleeve before taking a deep breath and working his way through the crowd.

"Draco daaarling, how wonderful to see you."

"Oh you're here. I'm sooo glad you could make it, honey."

"Wonderful entrees, tonight, daaaarling. Try the mini quiches."

It was enough to make him want to reach for the nearest tooth pick and jam it in their eyes, but instead, he smiled. He greeted people, looked intrigued when they regaled him with anecdotes of how they'd scooped the business deal of the century and laughed at their piss poor jokes. It was easy. He'd spent nearly his whole life pretending to be something he wasn't and he'd become quite the thespian.

"Ah, well you see. I was on the verge of signing a contract with Francegate and moving all my index shares over to the holding account I'd opened up for the deal, but then Marcus told me about this other place and well… What they were offering was over 40 percent more than what Francegate had offered so I politely turned Francegate down and signed the deal with Atlantico."

Draco nodded and took a sip from his glass. It was all terribly boring and he'd actually let his mind wander momentarily during Aaron's speech and for a while he was back by the Seine, sitting quietly by the river listening to it lapping softly against the bank.

"Of course I immediately closed down the account and moved all the money back into…. Oh... Excuse me for a moment will you?"

Draco blinked and nodded again, stepping aside as Aaron went to greet a late comer. Draco took the opening as it was given to him and used it to slip back through the crowd and over to the far table. Thankfully not many people were gathered there and the ones who were seemed to be too drunk to hold anything in the way of a conversation. Putting his glass down to pour himself another drink, Draco sighed and looked out across the city.

The view from the rooftop was not so different to the view from his bedroom window. At first it had been odd for Draco to look out of the window and see a city. Buildings, cars, the hustle and bustle of city life. He'd grown used to looking out of the window every morning and seeing grass… trees… flowers and a small stream that seemed to go on forever.

_Harry? _

Yes, Draco?

Will we get married out there one day?

If that's what you want.

I'd like to.

Then of course we will.

At times it was almost as if remembering a dream, but no dream could ever have been so beautiful and so painful all at once.

"You're Draco, aren't you?" came a voice from over the blond's shoulder. He fixed the smile back across his face and turned round, holding his now refilled glass below his chin.

"I am," he said politely "And… you are…?"

"Phil. The name's Phil. Nice to meet you," the man replied and held out his hand to be shaken. Draco shook it, observing the man's loose grip. "Bit of a boring party, this, isn't it?" Phil continued, glancing briefly over his shoulder and giving Draco a friendly smile. "I've seen more life at a funeral."

Draco gave a small smile at the first sign of genuine humour he'd seen for months. "Frightfully boring, I agree. Though I tend not to pay too much attention to them."

Phil nodded in agreement and gave a small chuckle as he reached over to the bottle of champagne on the table. "It's easy to lose track of what they're saying sometimes. I was listening to that Aaron bloke earlier. Couldn't for the life of me tell you what he was talking about, though." He stood back with the bottle clutched tightly in his hand and poured himself a glass, spilling a couple of drops onto his sleeve. "Lost interest a few syllables in and started thinking about the sausages I had for dinner."

Draco actually laughed then and leaned back against the table. "So, what brings you here, then? I don't think I've seen you at one of these parties before."

"Well," Phil replied "Mainly the booze. The food's not bad and there's always a bit of Charlie going around." He added with a wink.

Draco frowned, looking confused. "Who's Charlie?"

Phil looked at Draco in surprise for a few moments then laughed. "Oh, come on, man. Don't tell me you don't know what Charlie is…?" He waited for a while and when he got nothing but a look of puzzlement from the smaller boy he grinned. "Happy powder, love dust, candy cane, green gold…? Cocaine, my friend."

Realisation dawned. "Oh. I see," Draco said, nodding. "And… you do that often, do you?" he asked, trying to sound totally nonchalant.

Phil took a large gulp from his glass and nodded "Yeah. It's good for livening things up. Making things seem more fun than they really are, you know? Great for these types of things. I reckon that's why half the people even bother to come to these parties. Here…" he said, moving to stand next to Draco by the table and pointing to a group of people in the far corner, huddled in a circle around a table. "You see them? They're all doing it. And uh… that guy coming out of the toilet? He's just been doing it, too."

Draco watched as each person at the table took it in turns to lean over and sniff a fine line of white powder up a rolled up five pound note. He'd heard of cocaine before, of course, but this was the first time he'd ever seen people using it. It was a rather strange way to take drugs, he thought. Most of the wizarding drugs he'd encountered were in potion form and the few powdered drugs that were available on the wizarding black market had to be added to potions or liquids and dissolved.

"Did you want to give it a go?" Phil asked, pouring himself another glass of champagne and finishing off the bottle.

Draco shook his head. "No, thank you. I have a bit of a headache…" he said, trying to find a way of refusing without making it appear as if he were chickening out. But Phil only smiled and shook his head.

"This stuff is great for headaches. It'll be gone in a matter of seconds and then you'll be able to sit and listen to Aaron talk all night and it will be the most stimulating conversation you'll ever have because that's what the white rabbit does, man."

Draco really couldn't think of anything he had to lose by saying yes and it was either this or go home and dose himself with sleeping pills. He sighed and finished off his own glass of champagne and placed it on the table. "Alright."

"Good man," Phil said excitedly as he pulled out a small clear plastic bag from his pocket full of the same white powder Draco had seen on the table. He opened it up and poured a small pile onto the glass table top before using a credit card to shift and mould it into a long, thin line. He then passed Draco a five pound note and smiled. "Go for it."

Draco didn't move for a while, just watched the people at the other table snorting their drugs, drinking their wine and laughing at the smallest, most insignificant of things. To watch them was almost painful. They looked ridiculous, like a bunch over hyperactive children and Draco wondered how he'd never noticed this before. He'd been too busy thinking about… other things that he'd never stopped to take notice. Maybe he was missing out. Looking at them now, he couldn't help but feel pity and wonder how empty their own lives had to be that they felt the need to fill the void with drugs.

Maybe joining them wouldn't be so bad after all. They were all trying to escape from something, were they not?

He took a deep breath and rolled the note into a tight cylinder before taking a seat, placing the paper tube at the start of the line and snorting it all.

_Do you know how amazing you are?_

_A laugh. _

_What are you talking about?_

_You're like a drug. You get me so high._

_Ahh, that's just the sex talking._

_No… seriously. I think I'm addicted to you._

.o0o.

Draco woke the next day with no idea what he'd done the night before or even how he'd made it home. All conscious memory had been wiped out from the moment he'd sniffed the white powder. He hoped he hadn't made too much of a fool of himself. One thing he could remember was feeling very free but Merlin only knew where the rest of his night had gone.

He groaned and pushed himself out of bed. He was dressed in his shirt, tie, boxers and one sock. He had no idea where the other had got to but he saw his trousers lying in a crumpled pile by the bathroom door. His flat had been getting steadily messier during the months he'd been living there and the sight of yet another item of clothing strewn across the floor was enough to make him want to climb back into bed and not emerge again until God himself decided it was time for a spring clean.

The floor was barely visible for junk and Draco had to make sure he didn't stand on anything sharp as he made his way to the bathroom to wash. This room was hardly in any better condition except more of the floor was visible as Draco had dumped all his dirty laundry in the bath instead.

He leaned over the sink and took a long, hard look at himself. His face was puffy, his hair askew, there was dried saliva streaked across his cheek. He could also taste vomit in his mouth and he shuddered as he vaguely recalled puking over the balcony wall onto the street below. He couldn't go on living like this. No, not living. He wasn't living. He was existing, and doing a pretty poor job of it. But he couldn't keep on this way. He was hardly human anymore. He'd become a robot, a loner. Sure, he'd found a place among the high climbing pre-aristocrats, but what was he getting out of it?

A tickle on the inside of his nose alerted him to the fact that something wasn't quite right but he wasn't fast enough to grab a tissue before a thin line of blood trickled out of a nostril and down over his lip. He caught it on his sleeve and wiped it away before pulling off a length of toilet roll and holding it to his nose. This wasn't something he'd been warned about. He wished he'd stuck with his refusal and gone home but he hadn't and now he was kicking himself for it.

He could not keep doing this. He was dying here, suffocating. Every day it got harder and harder to get out of bed. Every day he cared a little less about everything and as much as that would have helped with the pain, he didn't want it. He didn't want to lose touch with humanity and turn into an empty shell. He had to leave.

He finished washing and dressed before picking up the phone and dialling for a cab.

He didn't bother telling anyone he was going. He left no note and took only his money with him. The cab ride was uneventful and although he spent the whole time looking out the window, the only thing he saw was the river as they sped on by. Nine months he'd been living in Paris and the Seine was the only thing in the whole city he'd miss.

"Thank you sir, we hope you enjoy your flight."

Draco waited in the lounge for what seemed like an eternity. He'd made up his mind to return to England and try to start a new life… again. A life where he could function like a human being and interact with others without feeling obligated to agree. He had no idea where he would be going, having ruled out going back… there. He had no idea whether Harry had moved on but he wasn't about to take that chance. He didn't think he could face seeing Harry again, he'd been hurt too deeply and the wounds still needed time to heal.

If things had happened any other way, he might not have had a problem with facing the once love of his life, but things had got so bad between them that just thinking about it caused him near physical pain.

The thing that hurt the most, however, hadn't been the media or the name calling, but the fact that Harry had let him go so easily. Draco had stood before him and told him he was leaving and Harry hadn't even put up a fight. There was no begging or pleading, no reassurance that things would be alright, though it wouldn't have made any difference, really. Draco would have left no matter what Harry had done, even if he'd become king of England. But Harry did nothing. He'd listened, agreed and just let him walk away. Watched him climb into that taxi and then stood by the roadside until it had vanished out of sight. Draco hated him for that. Hated him for not fighting, hated him for not begging and hated him for not once ever coming to find him.

"Calling all passengers for flight 759. Flight 759 to Heathrow now boarding."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3. Water Colour Memories.

Sunlight crept up the bedclothes and over the figure lying humped in the middle of the bed. There was no movement as the heat from the sun streaming in through the window warmed exposed skin. Only when the light and heat reached his eyes did he blink and sigh. He felt no need to move, no reason to drag himself away from the sun, so he closed his eyes for the first time in hours and ignored the red behind his eye lids.

He was lying where he had thrown himself last night; hadn't moved much at all. Black hair fell across his forehead, more untidy than usual and if he cared he would remember that it might have been a week or so since it had seen a comb, let alone a shower. A thin dribble of drool from the corner of his mouth made a damp patch on the pillow, and long stubble shadowed his chin.

The only clothes he wore were a pair of old boxers that had seen better days, and the only reason he wore them was because they were ones he had picked out himself years ago. Now, they were the only ones he owned, and they needed washing as much as he did. The air in the room was fetid, Harry having isolated himself to it virtually exclusively since he moved in, but he neither noticed nor cared.

In the corner of the room was the box he had bought with him from the house. Harry hadn't been able to decide quite what to do with those things, so he just left them in the corner. There was nothing personal in it; no reminders of Draco or anything, Harry just had not wanted to make any decisions at all. Instead, all he seemed capable of was presenting himself for meals whenever Hermione called him, aware that despite eating, he was losing weight and his ribs were beginning to stick out. He used to eat well, so well that Draco would tease him.

_Where do you put all that food Harry? _

I need to keep up my strength to satisfy you.

You'll get fat.

Not if you keep giving me workouts like last nights.

I think that can be arranged.

Things had actually deteriorated since he had moved in with Hermione. It seemed to Harry, that maybe he had made a mistake leaving their home, because without being surrounded by even the memory of Draco, things like looking after himself just held no meaning. At least at home he still felt close to Draco; at least there held tangible proof that they had loved each other; at least there, Harry held out some small faint hope that one day things might be different. Here… there was nothing.

A persistent pounding on the door roused him to turn his head away from the sun and towards the door instead.

"What do you want?"

"I'm coming in Harry," Hermione's voice came through the closed door only an instant before it opened and she entered carrying a bundle of clothes. Harry groaned.

"Go away Hermione."

"No, Harry. The room stinks and so do you. You are going to get up off that bed and into the shower. You're a wreck and you're scaring me." There was a small catch to Hermione's voice that Harry was sure that she practised, knowing that would be the only thing that got him moving; made him feel guilty. Shamefaced, he rolled over and sat up, looking at her.

"Sorry, but it's not like I have anything to get up for is there?"

"So you think that rotting here in this room will solve anything? He's not coming back Harry. It's been what… nine or ten months now? You have to move on. Find a job, go out, meet someone else. You have to start to live again. Because you can damned well bet that Draco isn't moping around like this."

Harry cringed at her words. He knew they were the truth but they still hurt. He was almost positive that Draco would now be much happier on his own, back in his own world where being with Harry didn't hurt him anymore. Where the press left him alone and he wasn't spat on or had abuse hurled at him.

_Why do they do this? Why can't they leave us alone?_

Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he sat there distractedly looking at the floor. A part of him wanted Draco to be hurting as much as he was, to be missing him just as badly. Then Harry could hold out some hope that maybe one day Draco would come back to him. Was that why he couldn't move on? Because he held out hope?

"What if he is Hermione? What if he's hurting as badly as I am? It will have all been for nothing…"

Hermione's face softened into compassion. Harry was really too altruistic for his own good. She had always understood his way of sacrificing his own needs to make sure that he did what he thought was the right thing, that those he loved were as safe and as happy as he could possibly make them. No matter that this was slowly breaking him. It was just his nature to put himself last; something she had castigated him over in the past, but something she loved him for nevertheless.

Sitting beside him, wrinkling her nose slightly at his unwashed odour but otherwise ignoring it, she put her arms around him and held onto him tightly. She made a decision. He deserved to know. Partly for of her job with the Ministry, and partly for her own peace of mind, Hermione had organised to have Draco followed for a while. Setting Harry's mind at rest, confirming that he had made the right decision for Draco, might enable him to finally accept things and begin to function once more.

On the other hand, the nature of the information was the reason that she had kept it from him in the first place. Seeing how deeply Draco was immersed in his new life would not be an easy thing for Harry to see, and the worry at his mental state had in the past been what stayed her. Now, it might just be the catalyst for saving him.

Of course, she knew that Draco was now back in London as it was all over the papers, and as Harry hadn't yet, she made a further decision not to tell him. At least until he has begun to live again. She had seen the way that Draco had been playing up to the reporters, smiling and laughing. She didn't think Harry needed that...yet. It was almost as if he had made friends with those that tore them apart.

"Harry, go and have a shower. I need to duck into work and pick something up, but I should be back before you're done. I have some things I think you need to see." She spoke gravely and sat back quickly as his haunted green eyes locked onto her face, searching for answers.

"Yes, I know where he is and what he's been doing. But I need to get the file from the Office, and you need a shower."

Fifteen minutes later saw Harry seated at the kitchen table, showered and dressed, still unshaven, and nervously awaiting Hermione's return from the Ministry with the file on Draco. What would he feel when he saw what Draco's life was now? He missed Draco so much. Every time he thought of him, it was like someone had gripped his heart and was squeezing so tightly that he felt like he was dying. And he thought about him every minute of every day.

A minute later Hermione dropped a large envelope in front of him and stood behind him with her hand on his shoulder. While he was wringing his hands under the table and staring hard at the envelope, she spoke, telling him that Draco had been living in Paris all this time. Living with the cream of society, attending parties and being seen with all the right people. A faint smile played on his lips at that, because of course Draco would chose that lifestyle. But then Hermione's touch on his shoulder tightened and he felt her apprehension.

"There's likely to be a few things in there that you might not like to see Harry, but you deserve to know the whole truth of what we found."

Harry's eyes flew to hers immediately concerned. "He's not hurt or anything is he?"

"No, no Harry… just…" she sighed. "Look at the photos."

Swallowing and turning his eyes back to the envelope he wondered if he had the courage to look on Draco's new life. He wondered if he even had the right. But, he had to know; he needed to see with his own eyes that Draco was happy now. His eyes flicked back to Hermione, acknowledged her nod with his own, and slowly began to open the package, suddenly afraid of what he would see.

Heart in his mouth, he withdrew the stack of photos, set them on the table, and started to go through them one by one. There were photos of Draco at party after party, a smile plastered on his face, drinking, eating, laughing and talking to people. Fortunately the photos were still ones and Harry was thankful for that. That ache in his throat was back again; had it ever really gone away? A wave of intense longing filled Harry and he traced his fingers over an outline of Draco's face caught in profile in one of the photos.

"Oh Draco…" Harry whispered softly.

_You make me so happy Harry. _

And I always will.

Here then was his proof. Draco was getting on with his life and the photos proved that. He seemed happy enough too, although Harry did notice that sometimes Draco's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. That was to be expected though. Then his hand stilled and Hermione's arms wrapped around him from behind. He had just turned to the next photo, and he stared. And stared. And stared, until he wildly began to turn over photo after photo. They were all different, but all the same.

There was picture after picture of his Draco fucking other men, a procession of pictures of a naked Draco in various positions, at different stages of fucking other people. Each one was a hammer blow to his heart, driving home the knowledge that Draco was no longer his, that he would never touch that body, never skim his fingers over that perfectly soft skin, lick that special place behind his ear, or run his fingers through his hair. He would never again kiss those lips like he needed nothing else in this world, making Draco his and no one else's, ever. He would never just hold him in his arms. Never again.

_There'll never be anyone else for me Harry. _

I could never even think of anyone else, ever Draco.

Suddenly feeling ill, he roughly pushed Hermione aside, fled to the bathroom and only barely made it to the toilet before heaving the contents of his stomach into the bowl. Violently shaking and crying and hurting, he slumped down on the floor when he was done, not even bothering to wipe his mouth.

Oh God, the pain… it was like a knife was gutting him alive from the inside. He kept on seeing that look on Draco's face, the one he had always thought he alone would ever be the only one to see; the one he knew meant that Draco was just about to come. Abruptly, he heaved again, but was too weak or didn't care enough to move and bitter bile dripped down the front of his clothes.

How long he sat there for he didn't know, but he had the presence of mind to tell Hermione to go away, that he needed to be alone for a while. The bathroom floor was as good a place as any to fall apart. It was done then. Any small hope that things might be different had now been snuffed out hadn't it? Draco was happy now and that was the reason he had let him go so easily wasn't it? Draco wasn't hurting anymore, so shouldn't that make Harry feel happy? Shouldn't he be glad that his decision had been vindicated? Shouldn't he?

_I'm going to spend the rest of my life making you happy Draco._

A raw sob escaped him. He was going to have to move on wasn't he? Of all the battles he had faced in his life, this was the hardest. He was fighting his heart now; fighting to close off a love he had thought would last a lifetime. Fighting to find a way to live without the man that had filled his heart and filled his life. Fighting not to love him anymore.

No. Just because Draco wasn't with him anymore did not mean that he had to stop loving him. That was too much to ask, and he knew it. But what he could do was to store the love somewhere safe in his heart; somewhere that allowed the rest of him to function. That's what he would do then. Because he knew that the way he had been living could not go on. Well, no he hadn't been living at all. There had been a breathing body on the planet, but he hadn't been living, and something had to change.

The decision made, he ignored the hollow emptiness that brought with it, removed his glasses and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. A flash of gold across his eyesight reminded him that he still wore Draco's bracelet. Removing it, he ran the links slowly through his fingers, over and over again, staring at it, but not really seeing it.

_What do you want most in the world Harry?_

_You._

Eventually, he sighed, as if expelling the last of his emotions; clearing himself from all the pain, resigned to a future without Draco. Gone was the devastated ravaged face that he had worn for the last ten months, and in its place was a mask. There was still pain in his eyes, and the fine lines around them that had once been laughter lines were deeper and made him look older and wiser. There was a certain set to his jaw that gave him a determined air, and when he looked into the mirror whilst cleaning himself up, he accepted that this was the face he was going to have to live with from now on.

He made another decision too, as he was looking at his new face in the mirror. He was going to leave the wizarding world, for good. It had assumed things from him from the day Voldemort killed his parents. It had required that he be the hero and rid them of the darkness. He had not wanted any part of it; not wanted everyone to know who he was; not wanted to be famous for something he had no control over; not wanted to become a killer. But he had. He had done it because it was the right thing to do. He had put up with the publicity, the expectations, the responsibility, and the guilt because he felt it was the right thing to do.

They had asked everything from him, and he had given them all what they wanted. Even when they had proceeded to take, he still gave. They took everything that had ever meant anything to him away, without even caring. Oh yes, people said they cared that he had lost his parents, pretended they cared when Cedric died, but they cheered when Sirius died and sighed in relief when Remus was killed in the final battle.

Still not content with taking from him the things he loved most, it proceeded to destroy his very life; the very reason he kept going when he thought he had no future; the very reason he had wanted to stay live after the final battle. It took Draco away from him, and paradoxically they felt vindicated, with the opinion that, if Draco had really loved Harry, then he would not have left him. So, really, he was just as bad as his father wasn't he, treating their Harry like that? For that, he finally admitted he would never forgive them. He wanted no part of this world anymore. They had taken what they wanted from him, there was no more.

He would find a nice quiet borough somewhere; a nice unassuming job in a place as far removed from the wizarding world as he could possibly be. And he would tell no one apart from Ron and Hermione where he was going, because it was none of their damned business what he did with his life now. They had no more right to anything concerning him anymore.

One more thing to do, he told himself. One last goodbye. He picked up the bracelet again and allowed his mind to wander back to their house. There was one place he needed to farewell, and he had been too distraught when leaving last time to do it. He would leave this there, and maybe if Draco ever came back to the house, he might find it and keep it.

_Harry? _

Yes, Draco?

Will we get married out there one day?

If that's what you want.

I'd like to.

Then of course we will.

After another shower and a Scourgify spell on his clothes, he headed out and caught a bus, sitting next to a window near the rear. As they travelled along the narrow city streets, he was glad that he had decided not to drive today. There was something soothing about the gentle rocking of the bus, leaning his head against the window and watching as the crowded houses of the city gave way to the space of the countryside.

Finally, the bus dropped him at the corner of the lane to the house, and as the bus pulled away past him it revealed their little cottage at the end of it, looking pretty much as he'd left it a few weeks ago, and shining almost comfortingly in the sunshine. Maybe the grass was longer, he thought as he made his way towards it slowly, shoulders hunched defensively against what he knew would be painful, no matter what he had decided.

Thoughts of what had happened last time he was here played in his mind and as he didn't want to relive that again, he opted to take the side gate instead. Letting himself in and closing it behind him, he turned to look down the length of what had been their back yard. His gaze flickered to the back verandah, where the two of them had spent many a warm evening sitting close together on the swinging chair, taking joy in just sharing their thoughts. The thumping of his heart told him that maybe he had expected too much from himself too soon, but he was here now, and he knew that if there was no pain then he had lost something more than losing Draco.

_I'm at peace for the first time in my life Harry._

Swallowing hard, he turned and followed the path down to the stream. It was lined with roses, their tiny buds giving a promise of a spectacular display in a few weeks with a heady perfume in the summer warmth. The buzzing of wasps caught his attention and drew it towards the fruit trees on his left. Heavily laden with ripe plums the branches were drooping and the wasps were lazily crawling over the split flesh.

There was an archway in front if him also covered in rosebuds, which he knew would be white when they bloomed. This led to a plain grassed area that spread down to the stream's edge. It was surrounded by trees and had been their favorite place outside the house; what had decided them on buying it. Draco had said that there had obviously been a lot of love here because everything had been so lovingly cared for.

_I think we'll be happy here Harry._

His breath caught and the familiar ache was back. He stood at the stream's edge and closed his eyes inhaling deeply to compose himself, before making his way over to the bench under the trees and sitting down.

This was where they had planned to get married. In front of only a few of their friends, they had wanted to pledge to spend the rest of their lives together, formalising what their hearts had already told them. Here among the trees, the flowers, the peace, was where the most important day of their lives was to take place. Harry looked across the grass to the stream, and watched it flow for a while, sitting silently, allowing the tranquility of the scene to relax him.

Then, finally, he began to speak. Softly and unsure of himself at first, but feeling the need to have the words said aloud.

"Draco…" he started, then stopped and sighed. This was harder than he thought.

"Draco, Hermione tells me that you have been living in Paris. I always wanted to see Paris. I don't think I ever will now… it just wouldn't be the same, not seeing it with you."

A cough, then he shifted on the bench uncomfortably, frowning.

"I saw the photos, Draco. I saw how much fun you were having, and I'm glad. I'm glad that you're finally happy… I'm even glad that you seem to have found plenty of company." But he had to stop there, because that knife was twisting in his gut again, and it was a while before he could continue.

"Well, alright, I'm lying there. It tears me up to think of you with someone else. When I first found out, I was ill. But…" he paused, thinking, "if that's what makes you happy, then what right do I have to complain?" None, he thought to himself. But…

"But… Oh, how I miss you. I miss you and want you and need you so badly that I think I might die at times from the pain of it," Harry burst out sobbing, unable to stop himself. Gasping in great lungs full of air in an effort to stop, he managed after a time to pull himself together. This was hard enough as it was without losing control.

Pulling a hanky from his pocket, he wiped his eyes, blew his nose and leaned back into the bench. A bird sang a song of summer in one of the trees and Harry listened to it for a while, sitting still, until it stopped.

"You know," he began again, "if I close my eyes, I can see us here on our wedding day. I wanted it to be a perfect day for us. I wanted it to be something that was special for just the two of us, regardless of what the customs are for marriage ceremonies. I had even written some things I wanted to say… but it won't happen now will it?

"But, there are some things I wanted to say anyway." He paused again, as the bird started up it's song again, and he smiled, surprising himself that he still could. It was like the bird was listening and answering him back. It was almost a comfort and it encouraged him to continue.

"Firstly, I'm leaving the wizarding world, and I won't be coming back. They've taken everything that meant anything away from me. I have nothing more to give them. I hate them and if I stay, things will only get worse. So, I'm going and only Ron and Hermione will know where I am.

"Secondly, and I already said this, but I'll say it again. I'm glad that you're happy now. Your happiness means everything to me and I'm sorry that being with me hurt you so much.

"Lastly, I will never stop loving you Draco, not as long as I live. I told you that it was forever and I meant it. But I can't live in this vacuum forever. You've moved on and it's time that I did too.

"I guess that's really why I came here today, to this place, where we had such dreams for the future. I came to say that it's time for me to let you go. It's time for me to find a way to live without you."

The bird was quiet and Harry wondered if it had flown away. No matter, now that the words had been said it had almost taken away the devastation he thought he'd feel at their meaning, and he felt oddly at peace. Maybe it was just the solitude; maybe it was the sunshine warming his heart as well. But maybe it was the fact that he had made a start, made a choice, made a decision on how he was going to live the rest of his life.

There would always be that place in his heart for Draco, and there would always be a big hole that only he could fill, but now Harry felt like he could actually live with what was left. There was going to be enough left over for him to survive after all. That was what was giving him that sense of peace.

He sighed almost in relief, and sat back enjoying the calm that had stolen over him, watching the stream flow, the sunlight glinting off the moving water. As the sun moved across the sky, Harry sat there, in this place of love, allowing it to gently repair some of the damaged walls of his heart.

When the bird finally announced that it was still there, Harry started, not realising that he had been sitting there for so long. Looking at his watch, he saw that it was 4.30, and if he wanted to catch the bus back to Hermione's, then he had better leave now. Today was Tuesday and on Tuesdays the last bus went by just before 5.00pm. He gave a sad smile and stood up.

"I'll miss you love," he whispered, and walked back up the garden path towards the side gate. Along the path, he noticed one of the pots that was full of Amaryllis was tipped over almost onto it's side. Squatting down, he thoughtfully stood it back up, twisting it into the ground a little to steady it so that it did not fall over again. These had been Draco's favorite flowers and there were pots of them dotted all over the place. In the spring they had delighted in the pockets of colour they made.

When he reached the front gate, he turned and looked back at the house one final time. There were no tears in his eyes as he looked, but there was a heaviness in his heart, knowing that this would be the last time that he would see this place; knowing that he may never see Draco again. That finally bought tears that stung his eyes, and he blinked rapidly to clear them.

Taking a deep breath, he blew a kiss towards the house, meaning it for Draco, turned, and walked back along the lane towards the bus stop.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4. One Person.

The clock ticked, the fridge buzzed, the windows rattled noisily in their frames as the traffic outside roared past, almost non-stop, through every hour of the day and night. Draco heard none of it, he chose to ignore it. Usually in lieu of locking himself in his bedroom with the television or the radio to keep him company. It was a small three and a half room flat in the middle of South Kensington, bathroom, living room, kitchenette and one tiny bedroom, just barely big enough to fit a bed in. It was perfect for Draco, at least here he didn't have the space to feel so lonely. Here, he was meant to be alone. There was no dining table or settee, no huge bath and, thankfully, no double bed. The whole flat had been made for one. One arm chair, one stool, one small compact cupboard that Draco had yet to put anything in and one narrow hallway connecting all three rooms.

England hadn't really changed, though it felt different. He wondered if that was because he was alone or if in those nine months he'd been away, something big had happened that had altered everything. People looked the same, did the same things, but they felt different. He recognised buildings and noted that they hadn't been changed since he'd last seen them, but they, too, felt different now. Not any better, nor worse, just… different.

His usual daily routine consisted of waking up at around two o'clock in the afternoon, getting washed and dressed and sitting alone in his room watching soaps or listening to radio chat shows. He hadn't forgotten how to smile, but it was rare that he ever did and on those few exceptional occasions, he thanked his inanimate, electrical friends for reminding him he still had a soul.

_You have a beautiful smile. _

Do I?

Yes. It sort of… makes your whole face light up. Makes you look happy.

I am happy.

Draco woke up earlier than usual on Saturday morning and made his way, drowsy and yawning, to the small kitchenette in the right hand living room corner. The light from the fridge made him wince and draw a sharp intake of breath through clenched teeth before his eyes slowly adjusted. There was no food. He sighed. That meant he'd have to go out again and he'd avoided doing that for nearly two weeks, living off whatever scraps he could find left in the back of the cupboards. He stood and kicked the fridge door closed with the back of his foot before leaning against the counter, resting on his elbows and looking out of the window on the far wall. Funny… the view from his bedroom in Paris had been beautiful, fine old architecture, the winding river and even Notre Dame in the distance, but the view here, shabby, grey offices, old transit vans and a post box covered in pigeon droppings, was more comforting than anything he'd ever felt in France.

Pushing himself away from the counter, he stretched his arms above his head, displaying just how malnourished he really was with the way his ribs jutted out under his flesh, and made his way to the bathroom to wash. It had been a problem at first that the flat never seemed to have any hot water, and a bit of a shock when he'd first tried to take a shower, but now he hardly noticed. He still ran both taps, as if running both, even though they were cold, would make a difference and washed as he normally would. Not washing had never been a factor in his life, he'd had that drilled into him from a young age 'Cleanliness is next to Godliness", and he made sure that he never missed a single wash.

He'd only taken one pair of clothes with him and one change of underwear, but because the washing machine he'd been provided with always left his clothes covered in soapy bubbles, he'd taken to washing them by hand. Thankfully the clothes were freshly washed so he didn't have to worry about going out in public smelling of week old sweat and dirt.

He finished washing and watched until the sink was totally empty before making his way into the bedroom and getting dressed. They weren't even clothes he felt overly comfortable in and most nights he took to wearing only his underwear around the house. He dressed and decided that if he was going to go out, then he would make a day of it, buy himself a new wardrobe, more suited to the London climate and fashion, all the food he needed to last him a month and whatever else caught his eye while he was shopping.

Pocketing his wallet, stuffed full of ten and twenty pound notes, he left the house and waited on the corner for a taxi.

Thankfully, the West End was still exactly as he had remembered it. People rushing past, in a hurry to get nowhere, others elbowing him to one side as if he were invisible. He didn't think anything could change about the way of things here and even though he was being pushed about and almost trodden on by complete strangers, he was relieved. He had come back to something and it was just how he had left it, unchanged and totally willing to let him back in.

His first stop was at Starbucks for breakfast and he flirted idly with the guy who took his order before sitting at a table with his coffee and jam croissant and flicking through a newspaper that the previous customer had left behind.

The next shop that caught his attention was a men's clothing store and he made his way across the road and stepped inside. He was grateful for the cool blast of air the AC above the entrance provided and he stood there for a while, cooling down nicely from the heat outside before making his way through the different shirts on display. Of course, Draco favoured the more expensive items and was drawn almost instantly to the back of the store where a few designer labels had caught his eye. He'd seen a few of these names in Paris where he'd learnt how to live as a Muggle and blend in naturally. It was there that he'd discovered his liking for labels and as he thought on it now, he'd made a mistake in not bringing more things with him when he'd left. But he'd left in desperation and nothing but the need to get away from that crushing, murdering, soul destroying lifestyle had come with him.

England hadn't healed all his wounds, and he hadn't expected it to, but it felt better here, because in London he was meant to be alone. In Paris he was a social creature, whether he liked it or not. It was what was expected of him and being around other people made him feel, even more acutely, the pain of what he was missing by not having the one person he really wanted by his side. But he didn't have to worry about that here, because his one person armchair, his one person cupboard, his one person stool and his one person bed told him he was alone, and for some reason that was much easier to accept.

He took nearly eleven shirts with him to the changing room and six pairs of trousers and none of the items were returned. He paid happily for his new clothes, bagged them up and made his way again down the busy high street.

"That'll be sixty four pounds and twenty pence please."

Draco finished stuffing all his groceries into bags and handed the cashier seventy pounds. He took the opportunity while she was working out his change to finish packing and put a few of the grocery bags in with his clothes. He knew he'd probably overdone it a bit, and the amount of bags he had to carry now was quite ridiculous, but he'd rather do it all in one go than have to make a habit of it.

"Here you go, sir. That's five pounds and eighty pence change," she said politely, then almost did a double take as she looked up into Draco's face. "Hey… wait a minute… Don't I know you?"

Draco raised an eyebrow nonchalantly and picked up his bags. "I shouldn't think so," he said as he started to turn.

"No, I do…" The girl then lowered her voice and leaned forward so as to make sure nobody heard her but Draco. "You went to Hogwarts, didn't you?" she whispered and Draco's eyes widened briefly before he shook his head and plastered and look of boredom across his face.

"I'm afraid you have me mistaken for somebody else," he informed her and once again made to leave.

"No, I don't. It's you… Malfoy. You left the country, didn't you? I followed that story… you and The-Boy-Who-Lived and everything. I didn't think you were a bad bloke, though. I always said that was media hype," she said with a grin. "I was in the year above you, Ravenclaw. My name's Emily." She beamed, almost proudly and gave a small excited chuckle. "I was really good in Charms."

Draco sneered. "Yes well, a lot of good it did you!" he practically hissed and turned before she could get another word in. His good day had been brought crashing down around his ears and now he didn't really feel the need to continue shopping, but had instead, the desire to go home and curl up in his single bed and watch TV.

He made his way down to the end of Oxford Street and hailed a taxi, throwing all his bags inside before getting in and closing the door.

"Where can I take you, mate?" The driver asked, looking over his shoulder in Draco's general direction. The blond did up his seat belt and kicked a bag out of the way in frustration.

"Addison Road."

.o0o.

He had barely managed to close the door behind him when the bag he'd put all his fruit into split, sending apples, bananas, oranges and pears rolling across the floor and under various different objects. Draco screamed, threw all his bags down and set about picking up all the spilt fruit. His day had been going fine until the check out girl had opened her huge, fat lipped mouth! Talking to him about something she had no real idea about and opening up old wounds that had slowly been healing. Draco cursed her very existence and reached for an orange that had rolled under the armchair before throwing all the fruit into a bowl and slamming it down on the counter.

He screamed again and kicked the cupboard door before swearing loudly and hopping around angrily on one foot, while his toes throbbed in pain. THIS was the very reason he didn't go out! The trip had got off to too good a start to have anything good come of it and he'd known something like that would happen! He knew it because every time he found himself enjoying something in the past, every time he'd ever been happy, something always had come along to balls it all up for him!

He turned to face the counter again and buried his face in his hands, elbows on the worktop, fingers grasping at his hair. Life just didn't want him to heal. It wanted him to suffer because apparently, according to life and the fucking wizarding media, he'd done something to deserve it. This would be something he'd carry around with him until he died and there really was no point running from it. Here he was, in his one person flat, with his one person armchair, his one person cupboard, his one person stool and his one person bed, and he was still lonely.

_Will we be together forever? _

Of course we will, love.

He spent that night curled up in his blankets, in the dark, watching the TV and making his way through a big melted, gooey tub of chocolate chip ice cream. The bluish light from the screen flickered and changed, causing long, dark shadows to dance sporadically across the back wall. He had just four channels on this television but he never really cared about what he was watching because, for him, it was all just another distraction. Like the Seine had been for him in Paris, so the TV was for him now. Something to keep his mind occupied and away from... other thoughts. At least for a while.

He picked up the remote and flicked back and forth between the four channels for a while, seeing images and hearing sounds, but not processing any of it. He sighed and stopped after a few minutes and put the remote back down before returning to his ice cream. He'd been sitting with it in his hand for so long now that his fingers had gone numb and the ice cream had been reduced to nothing more than a tub of flavoured sludge.

But he ate. He ate until he'd finished and placed the tub on the side before turning off the TV and settling down to sleep. It was dark in his room, his one person room, and after nearly five whole minutes he didn't even know if his eyes were still open. A truck trundled noisily past the window, briefly illuminating the room with it's headlights before it passed, plunging Draco back into his familiar inky blue darkness.

He slept.

.o0o.

It wasn't long after that that the wizarding media was once again on his back. He didn't know for sure how they had found out, but he had a pretty good idea who'd tipped them off and he made a vow to hex her into oblivion if he ever had to misfortune to see her chubby face again. They would take pictures of him through his window, follow him down the street, arousing the Muggle public's attention and picking up stragglers who had no idea who he was or why he had a huge crowd of paparazzi following him everywhere he went. They asked questions, made note of his regular haunts and waited, sometimes for days, outside his house just get another picture of the famous wizarding heart-breaker.

He hated it, he was sick of it and on the few occasions he found himself near the Leaky Cauldron, he made sure to take as many different back streets and short cuts as he could to avoid passing too closely to it. Of course, this didn't always work. London was buzzing with witches and wizards, more so than he'd ever remembered and they all seemed to recognise him. Some would simply nod as they walked past, some would giggle and laugh, others would gasp and talk in hushed voices amongst themselves and a few times Draco was actually stopped and told off.

He took this as conformation by whatever powers that be that he was the martyr and that he'd have to carry his cross with him for as long as he could before he just gave up and collapsed under it's weight. Every day this cross got a little heavier.

It was the events of a particular Tuesday morning, however, that finally drove him to it.

"Draco, how do you feel now about past accusations that you were always destined to follow in your father's footsteps?"

"You were in Paris for nearly a whole year, what sort of lifestyle did you lead over there?"

"After being part of the wizarding world for so many years, how have you adjusted to living as a Muggle?"

"What do you have to say to your fans?"

"What's your favourite colour?"

Draco ignored them, they were the same questions he got every day and they kept asking. He didn't like the attention but he couldn't get rid of it so sometimes he played up to it, walking tall and smiling tiredly at Muggle passers by who thought him some high profile celebrity. Of course, once he was away from Muggle eyes, he'd make a dash for the nearest dark alleyway and stay hidden until they'd all given up looking, then he'd make his way quickly home and lock himself away in his room. He wasn't happy, but he'd learnt to live with it. Until…

"Draco, are you aware that your cowardice broke Harry Potter's heart?"

Draco turned. "What…?" he said calmly, but with an edge to his voice that very few people caught.

"You take off without a trace, when Harry was at his most vulnerable and then you show up nine months later as if nothing happened." The reporter chuckled, as if he found something about his questions amusing. "I mean, that's pretty yellow."

For a while there was silence, no one moved, even the photographers had ceased their infernal clicking. Stillness, then Draco spoke. "How dare you accuse me of being a coward?" he said coldly, keeping his voice low. "You have no idea what Harry and I went through, how we suffered." He stepped forward and instantly the cameras were clicking and flashing all over again. "Alright. You want your interview? Here it is."

There was clicking, flashing and scribbling galore as Draco stepped up to the man who'd posed the questions. "It was hard for Harry and I during the war. We had to hide what we had from everyone because we were so afraid of having it torn apart before it had been given any sort of chance. It wasn't really love back then, more of a need, a comfort, but it was something we wanted to hold on to."

He took a breath and continued. "I didn't fight, I couldn't fight and Harry insisted that I stay as far away from the battle as I could. I didn't want to, but I did as Harry said because I cared for him. I wanted to make sure I was alive for him when he came back, because I knew he would. And when it was over, and he didn't come back to me straight away, I was terrified, I was physically sick and it was then that I realised I was in love with him."

The flashing was almost blinding him now as he spoke but he simply squinted against them and went on, raising his voice now so that people in the street were giving him and his crowd odd looks.

"We settled down, we got a nice house and we were happy. The media knew now, of course, but at the time we didn't care, because we had each other and we knew... or rather, we thought that nothing could ever come between us. Those first few months were the happiest I've ever been in my life. We joked, we smiled, we shared our dreams and hopes and aspirations, we played, we talked, we cried, we made love in the most unusual and fun places."

At this all the reporters pens scratched, almost in unison, rapidly across pads of paper as they nodded and urged Draco to go on.

"And then you lot came in and ruined it all. First it was the scandal about how shocked the wizarding world should be that two male wizards were in a gay relationship. Nobody would have batted an eyelid if you hadn't told them they should. Then came the accusations. I'm not good enough for Harry, I'm going to hurt Harry, I'm as evil and twisted as my Death Eater father and I don't deserve the love and attention of the Wizarding Worlds National Treasure! Our relationship had been fine until you came along and decided to wreck it. It all fell apart because of you and your stupid ideas, and biased opinions and your desire for 'the scoop of the century.' Well let me tell you now, I didn't leave because I wanted to hurt Harry. I left because you lot drove me out. You as good as handed me my coat and showed me the door. I had no other choice but to go because you would have destroyed me if I'd stayed. You know you would have, and you would have happily watched it happen. And you know what? Harry didn't even try to stop me."

He waited for a while, to let the full extent of what he had just said sink in. "Harry let me walk out of that door and get in that taxi. He let me catch that plane and not once did he ever ask me to stay, not once did he beg me not to go. I didn't want to leave him but I had no choice, you all saw to that and you have the fucking nerve to stand here today and tell me I'm a coward? You have the sheer audacity to accuse me of hurting Harry, when it was _always_ your fault?"

There was a stunned silence and the reporter stepped back into the crowd as they all looked at their shoes, at the sky… anywhere to avoid looking at Draco. The blond sighed and sniffed indignantly. "I'd like you all to go away now," he said simply and he was surprised when they actually did. In little more than a few minutes they were gone and he was left, standing in the middle of South Kensington, with nothing but the breeze for company.

He made his way back home only to pick up his wallet, then headed out to the street where he hailed a taxi.

It wasn't until they'd been driving for nearly an hour that Draco realised that there was a chance Harry might still be there. For a moment be considered telling the cabby to turn round and take him back home, cost be damned, but he held his tongue and within five minutes, he was climbing out of the taxi at the end of the road and handing over the fare. It was obvious he wasn't in London anymore, everything was so completely different. The greys and faded browns of the city had been replaced with brilliant shades of green and peach. The busy city high streets had turned into small winding pathways and the sound of angry, roaring traffic had vanished and the only thing to break the silence now was the sound of birds singing to each other as they flew through the trees.

It was exactly the same as he'd remembered it, but, as with everything else, it felt like something new and totally alien.

He took a deep breath and made his way down the road, taking in the distantly familiar sights and smells, walking with a purpose but not knowing where he was going until he stopped in front of a house that he recognised all too well. For a moment he was overcome with such an intense fear that he wondered if he wouldn't actually be ill. He backed up a few paces and frantically tried to decide whether he should stay or flee before he realised that the house he was standing in front of was empty.

The windows were dark and everything was silent. Even the birds had ceased their chirping now. But it wasn't any of these factors that told Draco the house was deserted, but the dead, hollow feeling he now had in his chest. He'd been terrified for a moment that Harry would still be here but Draco felt no sort of relief now that he knew he wasn't. It was strange, the one thing Draco didn't think he could face seeing again was the very same thing that he most wanted to see.

It was quite some time before he could move, walking towards the door and placing his hands on the knob. It was stiff as he turned it but it moved and surprisingly the door wasn't locked. He was thankful for this as he'd long ago lost his key and he ached to go inside now, yearned to have another look into his past because he needed something good in his life now. He needed to open the box and reach in to pluck out enough good memories to help with the pain, because pain was the only thing that had followed him when he'd left and he'd had enough of it. That is why he'd come here, not in the hope of finding Harry, but just so that he could be sure his past had been real. He needed something solid to cling to.

The house really was empty. All that remained was the bed, a couple of chairs and the fitted kitchen cupboards. No remnants of Harry, nothing he could pick up and take home, apart from an old painting Draco remembered buying for Harry one Christmas. It was still hanging on the wall, covered in dust and looking very lonely there by itself and Draco couldn't help but lift it off it's hook and clean it. The paint seemed to have faded and the green of the trees had dulled into a murky mustard-like hue, the blues and purples in the sky had turned grey and pink and the two lovers sitting under the apple tree no longer seemed to be smiling. Typical, Draco thought, that everything he found would serve to add to his loneliness instead of making it fade.

He put the painting back and walked slowly through the house, down the two person corridors, into the two person bedroom with the two person bed, then back through into the two person kitchen with the two person dinner table. He found a small calendar in the kitchen, by the window and flicked it back to the beginning. He remembered this calendar, too. It was old now, though. 1998. They'd got it not long after they'd moved in, and it wasn't long after they'd moved in that the media had started to poke around in their private lives.

He sighed as he flicked through it, looking at the different dates that had been marked off. He frowned when he got to October and saw the small note written in the 17th box. 'He's gone.'

Draco was still for a while, then simply shook his head and turned the calendar back to August. It was a year old so the dates were wrong but Draco found the Tuesday nearest to today's date and circled it with a finger. What he wouldn't give for a pen so he could flip back to Harry's last entry and add 'And you didn't follow.'

_Harry, I'm leaving. _

Silence…

Draco sat in one of the old chairs for a while just staring blankly at the painting on the wall. He used to love that painting, the way the colours and the look in the painted lovers' eyes brought it to life. Now it, like the rest of the house, was dead and empty, void of any semblance of the life it had once been so full of. He started when his watch went off, alerting him to the time. 4:30. Time had escaped him and he wondered if he shouldn't be getting home before it started to get dark. He pushed himself up and gave the room a last look over.

He was aware of a noise outside by the path and smiled as he remembered the old tom cat that used to come to them for scraps. They'd 'adopted' it and named him Chestnut and Draco wondered if maybe the animal had come back. He made his way to the back door and forced it open. The ivy vines had grown across it and the hinges were covered in rust, but he managed to open it enough that he could slide out without getting stuck.

There was no cat when he looked, but he saw the Amaryllis and felt a small pang of…. something in his gut. He'd almost forgotten what they looked like. Beautiful flowers, really. It was a shame the garden was now so bare. The rose bushes were still blooming and the stream still flowing, but the beds had died out and the grass looked as if nobody had been near it for months. He really didn't have the time to stay… but now that he was out here he didn't want to go. He'd loved this garden, and he didn't even have one in London. Although bare and un-managed, the garden didn't feel empty. Not like the house, the house was a shell of something else… the garden was still the same garden.

Finally the lead weight that had been pressing down on his chest was gone and a genuine smile creased his face. He closed his eyes and all the old memories that he thought he'd lost came flooding back. The sunshine against his face, the sound of bird song, the soothing trickle of the stream as it made it's way to the river. All of these things were happy memories and suddenly any thought of Paris, or London or Harry was gone, drowned in a sea of colour, sounds and smells.

It didn't even matter anymore that it was 4:30. It didn't matter that the busses stopped running at five. It didn't matter if he missed the bus back to London, it didn't even matter if he had to spend the night here, sleeping under the stars. Because he was happy. For the first time since he'd left, he was happy.

With a contented sigh he made his way across the garden to the old rose arbour and sat on the bench, facing the stream.

He was home.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5. Don't let Go.

Hands in his pockets, Harry walked back up the road to catch the bus back to Hermione's. His mind was still on the house he had left a few minutes ago, and he wondered if he should get someone in to keep the garden up. It would be a shame for it to deteriorate into a wild tangle of weeds and overgrown shrubs. Not when it held such beauty; a beauty that should not be lost to negligence. If he could bring himself to do the gardening, he would, but that was something he didn't think he could face.

He reached the bus stop and stood there waiting, feeling settled for the first time since Draco had left. Even though thinking his name still made his heart pound in aching sorrow, it was now something he felt he could deal with. Now he felt he could face keeping himself busy enough to make the ache go away for periods of time. Smiling gently to himself he was amazed that in the space of a day, with the help of Hermione and the gentle reassurance of the peaceful garden, he had made such progress.

Taking his hand from his pocket to look at his watch, he saw that it was ten minutes to five. Almost time for the bus. As he dropped his hand, the bracelet of Draco's that he had meant to leave at the house, chinked against his watch. Damn. He stood there in indecision for a moment. If he went back to the house, then he would miss the bus. On the other hand, if he didn't, then he would need to make another journey back here. Once he left here today, he had no plans on ever coming back.

Absently pushing his hand through his hair, making more of a mess than it usually was, he decided that he would go back to the house and just Apparate back to Hermione's. He would miss the soothing rocking of the bus ride home, but it couldn't be helped. As he walked back to the house, he removed the bracelet and held it in his hand so as not to forget once more the reason for being there. He pushed open the side gate and made his way down the path, not noticing that the back door was ajar.

He stepped under the archway, and stopped. There was someone sitting on the bench in the garden, looking out across to the stream.

Draco.

_You are my world Draco. _

And you are mine.

Harry's heart began thumping wildly, all the blood drained from his face. Why now? What was he doing here now? He was supposed to be in Paris. Oh, hell, what was he going to do? What could he say?

Draco looked so peaceful sitting there. He looked happy, if a bit thin, he thought as his eyes raked over Draco's body and face. For one heart stopping moment he wondered if he should just turn around and leave. Nothing good could come from this he was sure. He was bound to break down if he stayed, and that would just be embarrassing for both of them.

_Never leave me Harry. _

I couldn't even if I tried.

The seconds slipped past and still Draco had not seen him, which allowed Harry time to get himself under some sort of control. From the minute he'd seen Draco, his Draco…no… not his Draco anymore, sitting there, all he wanted to do was to run and hold him in his arms one more time. He felt like all the walls he had been building today were cracking at the seams, showing them for the weak, frail things they were. But he couldn't bring himself to leave.

After an eternity he composed his face and slowly moved towards the man on the bench, his heart in his mouth. He found his voice and croaked out,

"Draco…"

The blond jumped all but out of his skin and was instantly on his feet. He turned quickly, not quite sure what to expect and when he saw Harry all he could feel was... confusion, because his heart neither sank nor leapt into his mouth. For a moment he actually went physically numb and only managed to regain any sort of control over his body when he felt his knees start to give out.

He swallowed and looked Harry over, trying to avoid looking directly into his eyes as much as possible without seeming deliberate. "You look... well," were the only words he could muster at the moment and he regretted them as soon as they'd left his mouth, for Harry didn't look well at all.

Managing to drag his eyes away from Draco, Harry looked down at his feet. He knew he didn't look good, far from it. Again he wished he were anywhere but here. This was going to be worse than he thought. No 'Hello Harry', in fact no greeting at all. No flash of pain or longing in his eyes, no indication that he even missed me, just polite lies that you would say to an acquaintance… or worse, a stranger. Maybe that was for the best, keep things civil, polite even.

Coughing to clear his throat and at least sound normal, he answered, "Thank you, as do you."

There was a short silence then and neither boy moved or spoke, each avoiding the other's eyes as the quiet chirping of the birds continued overhead. Draco was nervous and it was a strange feeling because it was like nothing he had ever felt before or could possibly hope to describe. It was almost as though he were meeting Harry for the first time to discuss a business deal... There was no feeling of familiarity, and at the moment only the slightest niggling pain in his gut and if Harry were to turn and walk away now Draco knew it would subside. Already he was looking for a way out, an escape, because he had no idea what this would do to him if he let the pain get any worse. He gave a small nod in reply and the faintest of smiles flickered fleetingly across his face as he fixed his gaze on a small patch of drying grass.

The silence was worse than talking, Harry thought. But what was he going to say? 'Oh I heard you've been fucking everything that moves'? That was a great conversation starter, he thought with a trace of bitterness. Awkwardly, he shifted his feet and went to put his hands in his pockets, then realised that he was still holding the gold bracelet in his hand. He didn't want to give it directly to Draco and risk having it refused, so he quickly hid it in his pocket.

"Umm…should we sit?" he asked, thinking it might be easier to talk if they weren't facing each other, and Draco had obviously come to the same conclusion because the suggestion was met with a swift nod.

"Yes," the blond said stiffly and once again took a seat, the peace and tranquility he'd been feeling now shattered and painfully sharp. He tried to keep his mind on the stream directly in front of him as he felt Harry sit beside him. They weren't close enough to be sharing body heat, which Draco was thankful for at least, but Draco could feel the other boy's form, like a brick wall, beside him and it was all he could do not to flee.

Harry watched the stream flow past for a short while. It was less than an hour ago he has sat here on this very spot 'talking' to Draco. Things were so different now. He could feel the discomfiture rolling off Draco. He hadn't thought meeting Draco again would be so…uncomfortable, awkward, and painfully difficult. This was not how it should be; they had shared so much.

He leant forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "Hermione tells me that you've been in Paris since…." _you left_, he mentally added, _or rather, I let you go_.

"Yes." Draco nodded, too nervous to even wonder how Granger had known this to tell Harry in the first place. "I, uh... rented an apartment there," he added, trying to appear nonchalant and unfazed while his stomach did some of the most painful flips he'd ever experienced.

The apartment. Harry closed his eyes as the memories of all those pictures surfaced and he willed himself not to break down and scream at Draco. He wasn't going to let Draco know that he knew about all the men. As much as it hurt, it was none of his business anymore.

"So, why are you back?" Immediately he said those words he regretted them. That was none of his business either. "Sorry…none of my business." He shook his head sadly and once again stared at the stream, as the singing bird started up again in the trees. Maybe he should just…leave. This was all wrong somehow.

Draco felt his stomach tighten at the question and was almost relieved when Harry gave him permission not to answer, but he wanted to say something, if just to keep himself from exploding. "Paris was too... high brow," he said, thoughtfully, "Too many people with too many expectations. England is... quiet. No one wants anything from me."

_I do. _

Oh, God help me, but I do. Harry gritted his teeth together harshly to stop from crying the words aloud. Instead he nodded, not really in agreement, just because he couldn't ignore that something had been said. He told himself to stop being so foolish. Things were dead and buried. There was no going back. The press had seen to that a long time ago. Why couldn't he let it drop?

""Even the press?" he asked when he had himself under control once more.

Draco gave a small, bitter chuckle at mention of the press and shook his head. "Well, if you want to count them as people, then I guess there are some who want something from me." He shifted slightly and ran his fingers awkwardly through his hair, pulling a few stray, platinum strands out of his eyes. "I haven't been out of the flat much since I've been back, but I don't doubt I'm all over the front page of the Daily Prophet."

"I wouldn't know. I refuse to read it." Harry wanted to lean back into the bench, he wanted to be able to take glimpses of Draco from the corner of his eye, but looking at him, seeing what would never again be his was just too distressing. Instead he looked at his feet and reached down to pluck a few blades of grass twirling them between his fingers.

There was another long silence after that and the tension that grew in that silence was so palpable that one could almost reach out and touch it. A butterfly fluttered across the unkempt lawn and Draco watched it until it had disappeared out of sight behind the trees. A cool breeze blew across the back of his neck and he shivered. "Why are you here?" he asked, "if you haven't been reading the Prophet?"

Harry's eyes had followed the butterfly for a while, envying it's freedom. Draco's question was a hard one to answer. Whilst he had been able to 'speak' to Draco before, he wasn't sure that he could actually say all that to his face. No, he decided, he couldn't tell him he would always love him. Draco didn't want to hear that. Sighing, he sat up straight and reached into his pocket drawing out the bracelet. He ran it through his fingers again.

"I…I came to leave this…I thought maybe one day if you ever came back you might…" he couldn't finish for he found that his throat had begun to close and his voice was starting to crack under the strain. Silently, he held it out to Draco, not looking at him, willing him to take it.

For what seemed like an age, Draco just stared at it. He looked but didn't really see, though he knew exactly what it was. He didn't take in the colour, he didn't take in the detail carved into it, nor did he seem to notice the way the sunlight hit it and reflected onto his arm. Confused and somewhat afraid, he looked up at Harry. "You kept it?" he asked, though he expected no answer and when he finally lifted a hand to take the bracelet, he found he was shaking.

He could feel Draco's eyes on him and it was unnerving, especially when his jaw was clenched and he was still swallowing hard just to clear his throat. He hadn't really kept it, he had no idea where it was, had not even thought about it since that night. It was only luck that he had come across it again while he was moving, but he nodded at Draco anyway. "I found it when I was moving out," he said quietly, still not trusting his voice.

"Oh..." Draco couldn't help but feel a little disappointed, but he nodded and turned back to the lake, the bracelet now clutched loosely in his hands. "When did you move out...?"

"A few weeks ago. I moved in with Hermoine," Harry answered. At least they were talking now, but it still felt so wrong, he thought. They should be in each other's arms right now, they should be...they just shouldn't be doing...this. Polite, civil, nothing. Harry knew himself; knew that one word of encouragement from Draco would be all it would take... but it wasn't going to happen. Draco was happy in his new life now, and the sooner Harry got used to that the better. But...faced with him, right here, right now, it was tearing down what he had begun to build.

Draco nodded again and fingered the bracelet gently, as if afraid he would break or damage it somehow. "And she knew about me moving to Paris?"

Harry swallowed thickly, nodding. He couldn't give away that she had him followed, he wasn't sure that she had the authority to do that. With all the society things Draco had attended, he was bound to have made the newspapers somewhere along the line, so anyone could have known that if they had been looking. "I always wanted to visit Paris..." he began in an echo of what he had said the last time he was sitting here.

_With you though, only with you._

Draco frowned and shook his head. "It's not as great as people make out. It's not romantic or mysterious... it's not beautiful and scenic... it's drab... and grey and ugly." Draco almost seemed to collapse in on himself as he spoke of Paris and the thought of it was unpleasant to him. He took a deep breath. "You'd probably hate it."

"Maybe…" Not that it mattered anyway. There was no way he would be going now. Not alone.

Silence descended again as each of them was caught up in their own thoughts. Harry wasn't sure of what to say now. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, so much he wanted to know, but they were all questions he couldn't ask. The answers would hurt too much. So, he sat there quietly, feeling Draco's presence so close beside him, yet so far away.

"There are some nice parts..." Draco said suddenly, as if there had no been pause. "Nice is a comfortable area... Less... buildings." He trailed off. This small talk was jarring and the only thing keeping him from leaving now was the fact that he knew Harry wouldn't follow... again. The anger he felt for Harry had been lost in a sea of fear and confusion up until now, but as Draco thought back on the reasons things were this way now, he felt the resentment once again begin to surface.

Harry looked up and around the garden, and out across the countryside. There were less buildings here too. That was one of the reasons they had bought out here. Space, freedom, peace. Or so they had hoped. He wondered where Draco was living now. What if he wanted to move back in here? Harry didn't want to think of that, because Draco wouldn't live alone for long, and the thought of someone else living here with him... Absently, he wrung his hands together in front of him until the pain made him stop and look at what he was doing.

"So, what do you think we should do with this then?" he asked, indicating the house and garden.

Draco looked it over. He hadn't actually thought about that. He'd been too afraid of finding Harry still here when he'd arrived and then been so caught in the memories when he'd discovered that he wasn't, that he hadn't given any thought to what should become of the old cottage. "I guess we could sell it," he suggested, not entirely sure how serious he was being about that. "Or... maybe let it out to other people?"

"You wouldn't want to live here then?" Harry asked, relieved that it hadn't been Draco's first response.

The blond shook his head "No," he said simply. "I don't think I could, really. Too many..." He paused and ran a finger down the seam in his jeans. "It's too big for me," he finished. It was a two person house, he knew it, and no length of time spent in that house alone would change that fact.

"Yes… too big for me too."

_And too empty without you. _

Selling would probably be best. Best if after today, they severed all ties really. Keeping the house would only serve as a reminder that they were still connected in some way. Harry was starting over again. It needed to be a clean start, no ties to old lives… old loves. Biting his lip because everything still hurt like razor blades in his gut, he added, "It's best if we sell it I think."

Draco nodded silently and looked the house over. The old bricks were chipped and weatherworn, a window was cracked, and the ivy had all but covered one side of it. A big empty house. A big empty house that had once been so full of love and warmth and now they were going to sell it. Draco's chest suddenly felt very constricted and he swallowed back the lump in his throat as a gentle breeze blew a few loose strands of hair into his eyes.

Harry felt rather than saw Draco nod, and couldn't help but treat his reaction as another blow. Suddenly, he knew he couldn't sit there a moment longer and not break down, so he stood and walked to the stream, squatting down to pluck a reed from the edge. Hoping he was hiding his anguish from Draco, he stayed down, taking deep breaths, trying like hell to not let the stinging of the tears in his eyes overflow and fall down his cheek.

Draco wasn't quite sure if the pain that suddenly stabbed at his heart was just the pressure of the whole situation getting to him, or if it was the sudden loss of Harry's body from beside him. He didn't move for a while, just let the sound of the wind through the trees distract him for as long as it would before pushing himself reluctantly up and following Harry to the stream. "How do you suppose we go about doing it, then?" he asked, trying to keep the quiver out of his voice.

Draco's voice from close behind surprised Harry so that he started. Recovering, he shrugged, "Contact the agent we bought it from, I guess." He stared at the reed still in his hands all broken and twisted, with a frown. "I'll do that tomorrow if you like," he added in almost a whisper.

He really needed to leave, this was too… unbearable. But, he couldn't make himself go. It was as if a part of him was deriving some perverse enjoyment at this agony. It was all wrong, nothing about this was right, they should be… His shoulders sagged and he tossed the bruised, bent and broken reed into the stream and watched it sail away.

"Right." Draco nodded, the stream, grass, sky and Harry all blurring into faded watercolours as tears stung and pricked at the corners of his eyes and fought for their freedom. He took a deep breath and felt the pit of his stomach fall away as he realised they had nothing more to say to each other... "Harry I..."

Harry's stomach lurched, he wasn't sure he liked the sound of that. "What, Draco?" he asked quietly, after a moment when he was sure that Draco was not going to continue.

Draco steadied himself. He knew that he would likely never see Harry again after today, and there was a question he'd wanted answered for nine months. "Why did you just let me go?" His voice was flat and cold, but only because he was trying so very hard not to collapse in on himself.

A hundred things flashed through Harry's mind at that question, and he almost laughed. Instead he took a deep breath and tried to answer as best he could. "It was the hardest thing I ever did, Draco. You were dying inside and I couldn't bear to see how much being with me hurt you."

_And you wanted to go, you said you were leaving._

"Harry..." Draco shook his head. "Being with you wasn't what was hurting me... Being with you... being with you was the only thing keeping me sane." He smiled, but it was empty and it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I wanted you to follow me. I walked to the taxi really slowly, Harry."

Harry's heart was in his mouth, "So why did you leave me then?"

A hollow laugh escaped him and Draco turned and took a few steps away from the other boy, feeling himself losing the battle to keep his tears back. "I had to get away from everything. I was hurting, but not because of you." He turned slowly back to Harry and just... looked at him for a while. "You didn't even ask me to stay..."

Harry frowned. "How could I have? You said…" Harry stopped and rubbed his scar. This wasn't happening, this was NOT happening. Draco had left him, telling him that things couldn't stay the same. He had left him. Standing slowly, he turned and looked over Draco's shoulder, still not willing to look into those eyes. Very afraid of the answer, he asked, "Would you have stayed if I had asked?"

Draco couldn't lie. He knew Harry's asking would have changed nothing, it wouldn't have altered his decision to leave but perhaps it would have made leaving that bit less painful. "No." he admitted, voice hushed as he concentrated on the ground at Harry's feet.

"Right," Harry answered, unable to keep a trace of bitterness from his voice. Talking about all this changed nothing then, all it did was make him feel worse. His gaze flicked to Draco's face and his stomach twisted into knots.

_Why couldn't you have said Yes?_

"But..." Draco continued. "If you'd followed me... if you'd come looking... if you'd just tried to find me... maybe..." he sighed and shook his head. "Maybe things would have been different."

_Oh…_

Now, Harry's heart was breaking all over again and tears pooled in his eyes. "You left me Draco. I let you go because I felt I had no choice when you said you wanted to leave, but you left me. Even if I had, nothing had changed. How could I have asked you to come back to that?"

"You could have tried... Harry you didn't even try." Now Draco had lost the battle and the first tear broke free and trickled silently down his cheek. "I waited to hear from you... For months I hoped you'd come and find me... but you never did... and I was so angry with you... and I tried so hard to forget you, but I couldn't. I dreamt about you every night and I woke up every day and nearly died every time I realised you weren't there." Draco covered his face with his hands and cried now, knowing he'd just bared his soul and there was no taking it back.

The thing that Harry wanted so desperately to do was to take Draco in his arms, and never ever let him go again. Had he been wrong the whole time? Had letting Draco go not been the best thing after all? Was Draco really not happy? He had certainly looked happy in those photos. Those photos.

"You could have come back Draco, instead of…" He bit his lip hard and took a shaky breath, he was not going to talk about all those other men. Distressed, he took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I lost everything that meant anything to me the day you walked out."

"So did I, Harry," Draco whispered. "So did I."

"You were hurting so much, being with me was destroying you and I couldn't stand by and watch you dying any more. That's why I let you walk out. That's why I never looked for you. I thought you would be happy away from all that, away from me." Harry looked at Draco, the lines of pain and loss marked deep in creases across his face.

"When you left, the only thing that kept me going was the thought that you had the chance to be happy again. Every time I thought about you, it was like someone had ripped out some vital part of me that I needed just to make it through each day. I thought about you every second of every day. I lost my job, my friends, everything, and I didn't care. The only thing I cared about was that you weren't with me."

"I wanted to be with you." Draco said earnestly. "Every day, I wanted to be with you. I could only ever think of you. I kept wondering if maybe things would have worked if you'd come with me to Paris... if you'd shown up one day... maybe we could have started again." He stopped and screwed up his face against the next wave of tears that threatened. He was in so much pain and so torn now... should he leave or should he stay? He didn't know anymore.

"Maybe," Harry agreed. But it was all too late now wasn't it? Maybe it was time to stop hurting each other by reliving this. It was doing neither of them any good. Draco had his new life, and Harry had… well Harry was going to have a new life too, if he could bring himself to ever leave.

There was silence for a while, and Harry stood and watched as the sun began to dip low into the sky, casting a golden light across the garden. Harry sighed raggedly. He couldn't leave and yet he couldn't stay. Every thing in his head was telling him to leave now before he hurt anymore, but his heart was telling him that he didn't want to be anywhere else than right here beside Draco.

The silence grew longer and Draco's tears dried, though his eyes were still red and puffy. It was a while until he was able to speak again. "Maybe... maybe we should stop. It's getting late." The blond informed, wiping a few loose strands of hair from his forehead.

Nodding, Harry replied. "Yes, Hermione will be wondering where I am. I'll let you know what the agent says about the house, will I?" He was trying frantically to keep his voice steady as now that it came to leave, he was in a panic and something in his stomach turned over. This might be the last time he ever saw Draco.

_Oh, please…no…_

Draco cleared his throat, wiped an imaginary piece of lint from his jeans and held out his hand, looking Harry in the eye finally. He was doing this... he was actually going to leave.

Harry looked at the hand for what seemed like a long time. Touching Draco, taking his hand, was so final. And Ironic. What had started as enmity in their first year with a refused handshake would end so many years later with an accepted one. They were older and wiser now and no longer enemies. Perhaps this was fitting after all.

Trembling slightly, Harry took Draco's hand and was unable to stop a whimper at the feel of Draco's flesh against his palm and wrapped around his hand. He looked up in anguish into Draco's eyes, and everything seemed to fall away. The only thing that Harry could see was Draco's eyes. In Draco's eyes he finally saw the pain that the blond was in. His head was swimming and he felt faint, drowning in those eyes. He couldn't let him go, not again, not without a fight this time. He opened his mouth and nothing came out. He took a deep breath and gave it another try. What came out was hoarse and cracked and laced with emotion.

"I can't let go Draco. I can't let you go."

And there it was. The words Draco had been waiting to hear nine months before. The words that he'd never heard. The words that he was hearing now, and he fell. And as he realised what this meant, he knew what he had to say.

"Then don't."

FIN:

.o0o.

Epilogue:

Three weeks later and the garden almost preened under the sun of late summer. The roses along the pathway were in full bloom, a brilliant red, and the arbour was sparkling, full of white petals. The beds were all freshly planted and the lawns were neatly mowed. Beautiful music drifted through the garden, seemingly a perfect accompaniment to the lush, peaceful setting. In the space of green grass near the stream, Harry and Draco stood smiling at each other In this perfect setting, there were tears in both their eyes as they completed their vows and their journey back into each other's arms.

Just as they had dreamed.


End file.
